


On The Run

by ilithiyarys



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Upstead, hailey gets caught up in the spy world, hailey’s backstory, upton’s mysterious undercover assignment comes to light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilithiyarys/pseuds/ilithiyarys
Summary: After returning from the FBI's interagency training program, Hailey returns only to find out that she's being targeted when members of her previous unit begin to end up dead, one by one. Fearing that she may be next, she goes on the run.
Relationships: Jay Halstead/Hailey Upton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hailey gets detained right as she lands from new york

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things: one, i'm a sucker for spy thrillers and two, i've been obsessed with the idea of hailey getting caught up in the weird world of espionage and having to go on the run, so i'm doing it. let's see how this goes. also! i'm trying something new, writing in first person present tense. so please excuse any errors because this isn't something i'm too familiar with writing!

How did it come to this?

Just a few short hours ago I was in New York, excited to come home and see Jay, go home, and see the rest of the team. Next thing I know, I'm getting detained at O'Hare and escorted into a black SUV by men in suits.

I _hate_ suits.

I was happy to leave them behind in New York. Now this?

They'd put a hood over my head. Apparently for my " _protection_ "

Which could mean one of two things; one, something has gone terribly wrong from my time at the FBI, or two, something has gone awfully wrong from either working with Intelligence or Robbery-Homicide.

Either way, I have no idea what the hell is going on.

I just hope this doesn't last too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little something to tease your palate. stay tuned :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hailey's first day back in chicago is turning out to be a nightmare

I shift uncomfortably in the backseat of the SUV. I can't see anything, I have no idea where the hell we're going, who these people are, and I have no frame of reference as to how much time has passed since getting basically kidnapped at O'Hare.

Did they even bring my things? If they didn't, I will literally lose my shit.

… Well, _they_ would have literally lost my shit.

I brush the thought aside and bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing. At least I'm keeping myself entertained.

This whole situation feels surreal. Like, this doesn't just _happen_. I'm just a detective for the Chicago Police Department for fuck's sake. A detective that was supposed to be coming home to her partner and sinking her face in some Chicago deep dish. What the hell could these guys possibly want from me?

I roll my eyes. Not that it does any good; no one is on the receiving end of my eye-rolling under this hood. It's a shame, really.

So far, the ride is smooth. We must be cruising on a highway. Everyone in the vehicle is silent; no radio chatter, no phone calls, no small talk. They haven't told me a thing. Not a hint about why I'm being detained, or even about where we're going.

Nothing.

So I sit uncomfortably in the leather seat, which also makes a real nice squeaking noise every time I move slightly. And to put the cherry on top of the cake, aside from the hood on my head, they also have zip-tied my hands together. So this whole thing is just snazzy.

I'm literally being kidnapped.

I don't even know who the hell these people are. They didn't show me any credentials. All they said was, _"Detective Upton, you need to come with us,"_ and suddenly we were outside the airport; my hands tied, and a hood over my head.

If anything, they should have knocked me out or something. Jesus.

This has CIA or NSA written all over it. The FBI doesn't do this. They at least have the decency to show their credentials. None of this weird kidnapping-in-broad-daylight shit.

I'm very tempted to break out of these zip ties and punch out the agents in this car. This is _not_ how I imagined coming home after four straight weeks of hating every second of being in New York and wearing incredibly uncomfortable clothes. Which, by the way, I never understood the dress code. Why wear fancy suits when you know you're going to be chasing bad guys or getting shot at? Who wants to be playing cops and robbers in expensive clothing?

Psychopaths. That's who.

What seems like forty minutes go by, and they escort me out of the vehicle - not that I know where we are, but if they felt the need to put a hood on my head, it must mean we're at some kind of black site or safe house.

I'm being escorted through the halls and into a room. They sit me down in a chair and I feel the hood come off my head, and my hands free from the zip ties.

My eyes take a moment to readjust; it's incredibly bright. I take a few seconds to examine my surroundings.

I'm definitely at a black site.

Two agents sit in front of me; a man and woman. The man in front of me waits a few seconds before handing a file over to me.

Shit. I'm either in some shit, or in some _deep_ shit.

I cautiously take the file and place my hands on top of it. Before opening it up, I need to know who the fuck these people are.

"Okay, hold up. So you detain me right off the plane from New York, put a damn hood on my head, ties on my wrists, and take me to whatever the hell this place is like I'm supposed to play along. Who the fuck are you and who do you work for?"

"I apologize, this has been a time sensitive matter," the male agent says, as he pulls out his credentials. The woman does the same.

_Agent Brandon Scott, Central Intelligence Agency._

_Agent Jessica King, Central Intelligence Agency._

_The CIA._

_Of fucking course. It all makes sense now._

I roll my eyes as I open the file in my hands. I see some photos of my old coworkers from my old unit. The first photo is of us from one of our last days together as a unit, before I transferred over to Intelligence. I flip it over, horrified to see the following photos.

_Blake. Annie. Phenix._

Three different photos of each of them, all shot in the head.

I clench my jaw, forcing back tears.

This can't be happening _again_.

"What happened?" I ask, looking up at Agent Scott. He almost looks regretful, but remains stern and professional.

"Members of your old unit are turning up dead. Detectives Blake Saxton, Annie Whitmore, and Phenix Hawkins were all murdered by what seems to be a professional hitman. Detective Saxton was the first. We weren't sure what this was, until Detectives Whitmore and Hawkins were killed - same way as Detective Saxton. Three shots; two to the heart, one to the head." He says matter-of-factly.

My stomach drops and the blood running in my veins run cold. I've seen this before, and if it's as bad as I think it is, I'm fucked.

"Do you have a lead?" I ask cautiously. "Did you recover anything from the scenes?"

Agent King takes over. "No, this was the work of a professional. The bullets were extracted, and no bullet casings left behind. No sign of struggle, a clean hit; in and out. It seems as if they were taken by surprise, and had no time to react at all."

I'm taken aback. There's only one person responsible for this.

"Have you contacted our old unit boss? Sergeant Alexander Wyatt?" I question.

Agent Scott answers. "Sergeant Wyatt is missing. There were signs of a struggle at his house when we checked, but he wasn't there. We're still trying to track him down - he might have gone on the run. Detective Upton, are you familiar with Yevgeny Zolotov?"

I feel my anger rising. Memories of my time undercover begin to flash in my mind. Memories I hoped I'd never have to revisit again.

"Detective Upton? Do you have information that could help us? Do you know Zolotov?"

_Ah, fuck. Here we go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else think hailey's got a bit of a potty mouth? this is how i imagine she's like 98% of the time anyway haha
> 
> also update: i totally forgot it was canon that hailey dated her old unit sergeant who is a dude, so i changed it from what was originally sarah ward to alexander wyatt hahaha. at this point we're going slightly canon divergent but it still will all make sense, trust me :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hailey recounts the dreaded year she spent undercover

_"Do you know Zolotov?"_

I look at agents Scott and King in front of me and take a deep breath.

"Yevgeny Zolotov was one of the leaders of the Scarlet Mafia, a Russian crime organization that had ties to the Odessa Mafia. It was up and coming, running the streets of Chicago a couple years back. I fit one of the profiles for who they needed for this operation. So they sent me undercover with a crew of five other cops from other units to investigate them, do recon, and eventually, a bust. Our safehouse was three blocks away from a frozen yogurt shop that we used as a front to gather intel from the mafia's main base of operations which was right across our shop. They were growing more powerful and dangerous. All we knew from the radio chatter was that Zolotov was their leader, and almost never came out in public."

"What's the intel you had on Zolotov?" Scott asks.

I shrug. "Very little is known about Zolotov. He emerged when the Scarlet Mafia popped on our radar. No records, nothing. Not even a photo. He was a ghost. Word was Zolotov had placed a mole within the CPD, which allowed for the Scarlet Mafia to be one step ahead, every single time we seemed to get a lead on any of their players or any of their operations. Every drug bust, every arms bust, and every money laundering bust was unsuccessful because they'd gotten tips, every time. It was almost impossible to catch them."

I pause for a moment, thinking through the rest of what happened that year. The memory floods back into my mind.

* * *

_I carefully make my way through the alleyway leading to our safe house, making sure no one is following me._

_Something feels off, as I make my way up the stairs. I draw my gun from the back of my pants, cautiously approaching the house._

_I punch in my code on the keypad to unlock the door._

_"Hello?" I call out past the dividers of the house. There's no chatter, no noise. Nothing. Something definitely is off._

_I peek around the corner, horrified to find pools of blood and bodies sprawled out everywhere. All my colleagues are dead. I try to stop myself from throwing up at the sight. Blood is spattered all over the walls, computers, and desks._

_Suddenly I hear a noise from the back of the house. The attackers are still here. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an assailant draw his gun and shoot at me. I immediately jump out of the way, into cover behind the desks._

_I peek around, shooting back. One of the attackers are down, but I hear more gunfire. I pull out my phone, trying to call for backup. We've been compromised._

_No one picks up. Fuck._

_Bullets relentlessly whoosh over my head. I throw my phone as a distraction, and stand up and fire my gun. The bullet finds its way to the gunman's head, bringing him down, but not before one of his bullets hits me in the abdomen._

_The searing pain of the bullet radiates through my body, but I push past the pain because there is one more gunman hiding. I can hear his heavy breathing._

_I look around at my surroundings. I'm out of tricks and diversions, and I'm also out of bullets._

_Ah, shit._

_I flip the gun in my hand, clasping the handle so that the barrel lines along my wrist. I hear his footsteps inching closer._

_As he peeks around the corner of the desk I'm taking cover at, I smash my gun into his gun, forcing it out of his hands. I quickly draw my arm back, smashing my gun into his face. It does some damage, but it's not enough to knock him out._

_This fight is far from over._

_He draws a knife from a hidden sheath. I'm fucked._

_He swings and I throw my body back to dodge the knife swipes. He attempts to jab, and I quickly turn to the left, grabbing ahold of his arm, attempting to knock the knife out of his hands._

_No avail._

_Suddenly, he quickly switches the knife to his other hand, stabbing me in the abdomen. I crumple to the ground, grasping my abdomen._

_Not. Fucking. Good._

_He kicks me onto my back, about to finish the job. Just as he raises his arm to slash my throat, three gunshots go off - two to his heart, and one to the head. But before I can see who just saved my life, my vision starts to fail and I feel myself slip into unconsciousness._

* * *

"Detective Upton?" Agent Scott prompted.

I snap out of my daze. "Yeah, sorry. Like I said, I was stationed in a safe house with other undercover cops and detectives. We were one year into the investigation, when our safe house was ambushed. I walked in to find all of my colleagues dead."

Images of my dead colleagues flash through my mind. I shake it off, breathing a little slower to calm down before continuing.

"I was attacked as well. There were three gunmen still around as I walked in. I was shot once and then stabbed getting into close combat with one of them."

I remember that day well; staring the gunman in the eyes, thinking a knife in my neck would be the last thing I'd ever see. I shake off the memory.

"The worst part is that we never found out who the mole was. I imagine my colleagues were close to finding out who the mole was, which is why they were all killed. I wasn't there when they would have made the discovery, so I still don't know who the mole was. All the files from our safehouse had been ransacked, destroyed. And Zolotov and the Scarlet Mafia disappeared, never resurfaced. I still don't know why I'm still here, or who saved my life that day. I woke up four days later in the hospital. Three months later, I was promoted to detective. I never came across Zolotov again. It was the biggest fuck up of an operation. Five CPD officers and detectives, all deceased. And they _still_ promoted me to detective," I sneer, crossing my arms, sinking into my seat.

I look at the agents again. "You guys mentioned earlier that my colleagues were each shot three times? Twice to the heart, once in the head? I'd only seen that once before, it was whoever saved my life that day. That person killed the gunman that was about to kill me,"

The agents listen intently.

I continue. "If that hitman is back, if this is a repeat of what happened five years ago, we can assume that my colleagues found out the identity of the mole and who Zolotov is. They were killed for it. He's covering his tracks," I add.

"Did any of your colleagues reach out to you recently? Emails, texts, phone calls, mail, anything that might have provided a tip?"

I try to think back about any communications I've had over the last couple weeks.

"Now that you mention it, I did receive a letter from Annie just before I left for New York. I hadn't opened it yet, but that might be something. I never opened it because I found it strange for her to be sending mail, she usually sends a text message every now and then for drinks but nothing as formal as that."

Scott nods, writing something down in his notepad. "We'll send someone to pick it up."

I tilt my head slightly. "Wait, why can't I just do it? Can't I go home?"

Agent King shares a stern, but slightly uncomfortable look with me. "Detective, that's why we brought you here. We want you to work with us to catch Zolotov. We've intercepted intel that not only is Zolotov back, but he's planning an attack, here in Chicago. You may be the key to identifying Zolotov and stopping him."

My stomach drops again. Are they asking me to do what I think they're asking me to do?

"So what does that mean?" I ask.

Agent King continues. "It means you may need to cut off all communication from your current team for now, including Sergeant Voight. At least until the situation is handled. Zolotov is back, and the only way to protect your current team and yourself is if you cooperate and work with us."

I feel my heart rate increasing. Not so much because of the situation at hand, but because I know Voight is going to kick my ass if he doesn't hear from me.

Either way, I'm fucked.

"Right. So what now? I can't talk to my friends, my colleagues, my partner, my boss, or my roommate. I can't go home. What's the play here?"

"We're going to relocate and place you in a safe house, along with Agent King and myself to protect you."

I cross my arms in frustration. "Oh great, so you're handling me now."

"Detective, it's for your own safety. A professional hitman is out there, and if he is affiliated with Zolotov, then you are in a lot of danger. Until we can crack this, we need you to stay out of sight and work with us to stop Zolotov from planning his attack."

"How can I know that my team will be safe? My roommate? If anything, there's a target on her back if they find out where I live."

Agent King attempts to reassure me. "We'll have agents watching."

Another agent enters the room, handing me a new passport, a go-bag, and a new phone.

"We're leaving in ten."

First the FBI, now this CIA crap.

I can't seem to catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> 1\. assume any inaccuracies in relation to the CIA and operations are mine. i don't know a lot other than stuff i've seen on tv and the little i've researched on wikipedia haha  
> 2\. the scarlet mafia is totally made up, but the odessa mafia is real!  
> 3\. i know hailey's mentioned that she was meritoriously promoted but she knows she earned that promotion, so this was kind of a cool way of imagining how that happened, even though she really downplays it here
> 
> again, this is just my imagination. i don't think hailey's time undercover was this crazy (i mean i hope it's not as dark as this, but who knows! i'd love to see how jay would react if he heard hailey went through something as batshit crazy as this haha.) anyway, i hope you're enjoying this!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After supposedly meeting her at the airport and no response to any of his messages or his calls, Jay grows worried that something might have happened to Hailey

_"Hi, this is Detective Hailey Upton. I can't come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the tone,"_

That's the third time in a row that she doesn’t answer her phone. It's so unlike her to let phone calls to go straight to voicemail, let alone five - not including the four other calls I've made prior over the last hour.

I don't want to say that I'm worried… But I'm worried.

As I wander through the airport, I check over the arrivals on the TV monitors for what feels like the millionth time. Her flight definitely wasn't delayed - it arrived on time. An hour ago.

But where is she?

There's a sinking feeling in my stomach. Something doesn't feel right. As I pass by a gift shop, I scroll through my phone to call Voight.

He immediately picks up.

_"Halstead,"_

"Hey Sarge, is it possible to get a GPS track on Hailey's phone? I was supposed to pick her up from the airport an hour ago, and her flight arrived an hour ago but she hasn't picked up at all."

_"Could she be waiting for her luggage?"_

"Sarge, it's been over an hour. She didn't have any checked bags when she left for New York. Just a carry on. She isn't the kind to bring loads of things back either. She should've been out as soon as she arrived."

_"Okay, Jay. I'll get Burgess to look into it. Keep looking around and keep me posted."_

"Will do, Sarge."

I end the call, putting my phone back into my pocket as I make my way to the Delta Airlines desk. I show my badge to the lady working and quickly check her name tag before greeting her.

"Excuse me, Miss Morales? I'm Detective Jay Halstead, Chicago P.D. I'm looking for a passenger from flight DL-122, Detective Hailey Upton. She's my partner, and her flight arrived an hour ago but I still haven't seen or heard from her. You have any information on her or her flight?"

Miss Morales nods, checking her computer. "It says here that the flight did arrive an hour ago, but all the passengers and the luggage from the carousel have been cleared for the next incoming flight."

I nod my head. "Is there any chance you have security footage tracing back from the gate that airline deplaned up to the carousel and exits?"

"Yes, but I'll have to re-direct you over to security. They'll be more use to you than I. I'll give them a call right now."

"Much appreciated, thank you."

_Come on Hailey, where are you?_

* * *

**En Route, Unknown Location**

I shift uncomfortably on the leather seats in back of the SUV. I'm annoyed; I can't believe this is the second time they've done this to me.

"Can you guys tell me why I need to wear a hood again? It's not like I'm going to tell Zolotov where I am,"

King answers. "Upton, it's for your safety."

 _"Upton, it's for your safety,"_ I mock under my hood, mimicking Agent King. Nevertheless, I try to keep the conversation going. If I'm going to be stuck with these pricks, might as well make the most of it.

"Oh, so we're on a last-name basis now," I quip.

"If that's what makes you comfortable," Scott replies.

"Whatever," I scoff. "Well, if I'm going to be stuck with you two, can I at least get to know how or why you joined the CIA?"

A few seconds of silence pass by, and I smile to myself. I can tell they're uncomfortable with the question. I continue to poke around.

"Oh, I see, you're _spies_. You could tell me but you'd have to kill me, right? Well, I've got news for you - Zolotov might beat you to it, so you really don't have anything to lose,"

I can almost sense their unease. It's actually kind of funny.

"Upton, take it easy," King warns. I roll my eyes.

"Well?" I prompt.

Agent King indulges me first. "Okay. I was recruited out of college. I finished my degree in Computer Science at Harvard. Was recruited initially as an analyst but ended up falling in love with field work, now I'm here."

Of course. Goody two-shoes type.

"Great, so you're a computer nerd. What about you, Scott?"

"I was recruited out of college as well. I was studying law at Yale on a soccer scholarship. Didn't quite finish, but I was glad to leave. Was getting bored."

"Oh my God," I almost laugh. "So neither of you are from Chicago? How the hell did you end up here?"

"We were stationed in D.C. when we caught a lead on Zolotov, the intel pointing towards you. Now we're here." King answers.

"I'm flattered. So what's the plan here now? Take me to a safe house? And then what?"

"We'll set up mobile communications, continue working from there. Zolotov is planning an attack. We don't know where or when, but we know it's happening in Chicago, and we need to work together to stop it." Scott adds.

_Yeah, you said that the first time around._

"Do you have any leads on my old boss?" I ask. "You said he was missing, have you found anything else yet? He could have some answers,"

"He seems to be off the grid. Wyatt's last known location was at his apartment, and it was ransacked. We found traces of blood, but it was his. It looked like he was attacked, got into a fight with whoever attacked him and took off. No leads on credit cards or communications. He seems to be on the run as well." King responds.

"Right," 

Scott tries to reassure me. "Don't worry, Upton. We'll find him and whoever has been targeting your old team."

I feel a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Something doesn't sit right with me about any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who else feels like jay and hailey are just so in sync with one another that they ride on the same wavelength and instantly sense something is wrong? that’s how i imagine it anyway haha


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hailey has terrible dreams, and jay is unable to sleep

_I'm sitting on one of the benches in the locker room at the precinct, watching Jay pack his stuff from his locker into his bag. I feel a heaviness in my chest, and there's tears streaming down my face._

_"Jay, what are you doing? Where are you going?"_

_He angrily continues to pack his things. "You left me, Hailey. I was left behind, without an explanation, again."_

_The last word was emphasized. I stand up, throwing my arms up in frustration. "Jay, that wasn't my intention! I wasn't allowed to reach out to you!"_

_He just shakes his head. "It's too late Hailey. I can't trust you. I should've known you were going to leave me just like Erin did. You don't care about me at all."_

_His words cut me like a knife. I feel more hot tears running down my face._

_"_ _But I do, Jay! I care about you so fucking much! God, can't you see that?"_

_Jay slams his locker, raising his voice. "No, Hailey, you left me behind - no messages, no calls, nothing! You disappeared without a trace and left me hanging!"_

_He begins to storm out the locker room, and I follow him stupidly._

_"Jay, I ran to protect you! Just let me explain!" I cry, trying to grab his arm. He brushes me off._

_"No, Hailey, I don't want to hear it! You know, I'm starting to think you never really loved me at all."_

* * *

I suck in a sharp breath, nearly falling out of my bed from that awful dream. I reach for my phone, checking the time.

_3:42am_

Great. Second night in a row I haven't been able to sleep.

I rub my eyes as I make my way out of my room, wandering down the hallway into the kitchen. I turn on the kettle and grab a mug and a teabag and lean against the counter as I wait for the water to boil.

The CIA's placed me in a decent apartment for now, in a suburb forty minutes south of Chicago. Agents Scott and King are both staying in separate apartments across the courtyard to keep an eye on me. They've given me a new phone and everything, so I have no numbers saved, can't use email, social media, nothing that would give away my position.

This whole situation is ridiculous. I'm being babysat, I haven't been able to talk to anyone, no one knows where I am or if I'm doing alright. The worst part is not being able to tell Jay anything… I just hope to God he doesn't think I've abandoned him. These dreams… They've just been making me feel worse. This is all a nightmare I can't seem to wake up from.

The water reaches a boil, and I pour it into my mug. I make my way to the living room and sink into the couch. I haven't been able to sleep since all of this happened. How could I? Zolotov was back in the picture. My old team is dead. My current team doesn't know where I am. I'm staying with people I don't fully trust in a neighbourhood I'm not familiar with.

I'm exhausted and angry. I just want to go home. I want to watch _Money Heist_ with Rojas. I want to have drinks with Jay. I want to see the team.

Tears start streaming down my face, as Jay's words from my bad dream continue to replay in my mind.

_I'm starting to think you never really loved me at all._

* * *

I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Nothing.

I can't sleep, I can't eat. I'm worried sick.

Burgess managed to track Hailey's phone, but it was a dead end. Her phone's signal was cut off in the middle of the I-190, but that didn't really matter because airport security sent us the footage between the time Hailey would have arrived. There was only one camera angle that managed to catch what happened. It was subtle, but it happened. Hailey was escorted out of the airport by some men in suits. We aren't quite sure who they might be working for, but they clearly knew what they were doing because they were on camera for less than seven seconds.

She was taken.

Voight said we'd pick up first thing in the morning. I fought him on it. Hailey was missing - we needed to work on it ASAP, it's what she would've done for me. But he said we would be no use in finding out what happened to Hailey if we weren't well rested or sharp.

That was true. But also somehow, bullshit.

Who knows what might be happening to her right now? What if she's being tortured? I can't even bring myself to think of the next possibility.

I feel sick to my stomach. I get up, pivoting my legs over the edge of my bed.

It's almost four in the morning, and my stomach is turning at the thought of her being missing. It was bad enough when she was taken for the first time while working in Intelligence, when she and Burgess went missing almost a year and a half ago by two goons trying to sell illegal guns. I still remember how I felt when I saw her as Ruzek escorted her out of that cabin. She'd been all bloodied and beaten up. I swore to myself from that day on, as her partner I'd never let anything like that happen to her again.

What a shitty job I've done. I'm supposed to protect her.

I feel incredibly useless.

I felt useless when she was sent away to New York. I felt useless every time she called, telling me about cases that went wrong, or when she'd gotten injured on the job while in New York - which was surprising to me how many times she'd gotten injured in just the three weeks she'd spent there. A sprained wrist from tackling a suspect, a gash on her forehead from getting knocked by a suspect with a wooden plank, and a flesh wound on her right bicep from a gunfight.

And every time we called each other, I felt useless for not being able to be there for her so we could do our 'thing.'

I just… I haven't seen her in almost a month and now this?

It's a nightmare.


End file.
